


All things must pass

by nojoking



Category: Chalion Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-20 23:23:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14904152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nojoking/pseuds/nojoking
Summary: Twelve Drabbles on the death of Lupe dy Cazaril.Some authors would do this as 12 separate pieces each with a header.





	All things must pass

 

**Next time – perhaps** :

The Daughter of Spring sat silent for as long as one of the Five ever did. At the end of that everlasting instant She sighed, then spoke to the breeze which kept the words of the gods in perpetual hostage. “So, that has ended. What will those incomprehensible humans next do to complicate their lives? How will it affect us? And alter what we know should happen? And whether any of their contortions and twists will be of interest to us? They so puzzle me with the power of their actions. When all we can do is send them dreams.”

 

 

**Broken, yet moving :**

Betriz was exhausted. She knew that the force which had driven her since she became a woman had … gone. She recalled every word, every conversation. All the way back to the first dinner, the first lesson. And she knew she must go on alone. She shuddered for a moment, then another. Then she stopped in her tracks. Causing the procession itself to hesitate. And she heard the voice. ‘Never give in. Never stop until something greater presses on you – and then (smile) perhaps veer or bend’. She took the first step of the rest of her life, then another.

 

 

**Consequences, Complexities,**

Iselle watched as they buried her Chancellor. The old Provincara’s words came back …. Captain, Castellan, Courtier, Courier. She recalled the other words she had added across the years. Captive. Carrier, Counsellor. Some made her smile – Cook – oh no, that camping trip when all the host of castle staff had gone down with illness. Cazaril had cooked – and he should have been prevented. Connoisseur – she recalled Bergon’s instruction to avoid asking Cazaril to chooose the wine. Never was a worse Calligrapher with those galley-crippled hands. And late in life, his awkward attempts to help with their son’s attempts at Carpentry.

 

 

**Now, I must listen too.**

Isara kept her tears still, silent. She knew how many people had loved him – each in their own and special way. But she alone knew him as ‘The Man who listens’. She had seen him with his own children – watching, guiding, teaching.. When she was nine, Isara asked for a private meeting, so private that no one knew her purpose. The meeting was short. “I will be Queen.” Cazaril nodded. “I need you to help me – not to immediately but just to listen – and later tell me if I'm going awry” He raised an eyebrow, “or going wrong.” Caz smiled.

 

 

**Distant Sainthood :**

Mendenal was old now, old in every bone, sinew and joint. He had seen the joy of several saints at their relationship with their god and knew it was beyond his comprehension. Words failed, poetry failed, music failed – he knew this because Cazaril, Ista and others had told him so. But he wondered. What would it feel like to be breathed in by a god? Is that what it would feel like? To be a leaf in a hurricane of souls but still aware enough that the god’s whole attention was on each and every leaf. Wondrous. And yet ….

 

 

**Friendly Enemies :**

The Emperor of Darthaca listened as his Foreign Chancellor told the news from Chalion-Ibra.  
“What changes will happen, d’y think?”  
“None of immediate import. The move to becoming a trading partner rather than an opponent is good for them, and good for us. Perhaps our unwounded armies should acclaim him as a friend!”  
“An interesting notion. That one should reward one’s enemies for not waging war.”  
“On the rare occasions when I am myself, rather than your Imperial Highness’s mouthpiece, I feel that Chalion-Ibra’s change of approach has great value. Although there are always advantages to war – when one wins.”

 

 

**Unspoken Thoughts :**

Bergon stood beside Iselle with Betriz, half a step in front for a change. He knew what he wanted to say, to shout, to remind people of his friend’s qualities. “This was my friend. When I was captured and sold and sent to the galleys. He was there first, beaten, battered and he said ‘Good evening, young sir’ as if we were well met at a court event. I liked the man, loved the man. Honour him like few others, Captain, Courtier, Chancellor; Soldier, Survivor, Saint; Guard, Guide, God-loved. We are lucky to have known him.” He’d say it later.

 

 

**Sharing thoughts and truth :**

Ista sat. Calm and content. Her ally-friend-fellow-saint was gone. One of the few with whom she could talk of their god-masters with the knowledge that even saints were but dust-motes betimes sparkling in a ray of sunlight. There and gone. Ista ached with her tangled and disparate love-hate. She knew, no better, how the Bastard drank her to the depths and toyed never-toyed with her. What a Bastard. She grinned as she knew he would. Then, realizing where she was and what was happening – she fought back to Bastard-sobriety. Did she hear a murmured ‘Well done, my clever Ista’ ?

 

 

**Once – now never again :**

Palli shouldered his corner of the coffin. He couldn’t tell if it was light or heavy. His heart was filled with the emptiness of no more fireside talks with his friend, no more slow rides through the woods, no more wine, no more song, no more …… his mind went blank for a moment. Suddenly, he thought back to his first meeting – as a youthful cadet meeting a war-battered leader of a cavalry platoon. And Palli knew nothing. And what he did know was useless out in the field. But he learnt. And somehow Caz always knew the right words. Always.

 

 

**Punishment and Forgiveness :**

Two grizzled veterans stood at the edge of the crowd. Veterans of Gotorget, both had later been of the Chancellor’s Guard – the twenty men allocated when he travelled. “Fine man, that. Let’s hope we still tell stories of him in a few year’s time.”  
“Top man indeed. WE will tell stories, we knew him personally – but the rest of them – they’ll forget.”  
“I remember before Gotorget. He reprimanded me for whistling when on guard. The next morning, he had me up on parade and said he was wrong. I had been whistling quietly and he wanted happy troopers. Good man.”

 

 

**Twice upon a time :**

In that endless moment of release, Caz forgot almost everyone, almost everything. He could hear his music again, the music of the Gods. No more did he fret as he tried to recall that perfection. Once again, he saw the floating petal-souls of the world – rising by God-magic to wondrous wonderment where he was loved like every thing and like no other. He almost forgot Betriz as he drowned in his God. But as with prayer, the Gods deliver inhumanly . He also knew everything, every one of his mistakes and what happened because. He was God-loved and he wept.

 

 

**From whence come Gods ?:**

Time passed. Life continued. The world rolled on – as if Cazaril had never mattered. As if all the transient inhabitants of earth, air and water or the temporary alliances of beetle, fish or bird were inconsequential as was perhaps the truth. The sky-rolling ball had as much knowledge and intent as ……who knew? For the Gods, the question was beneath consideration, beyond knowledge, outside comprehension. For mere humans, the idea that there were gods who, in their way, cared about humans was aweful – but that the planet might be conscious – no. Despite their lack of interest, The World rolled on.


End file.
